The Risk Series 2: A Risk Worth Taking
by KSPretenderFan
Summary: Is He Worth it? Part 2 in the Risk Series
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Thanks to Rose_Griffes for beta'ing. You're a rock star. Thanks to Sassy J for the quick Beta and suggestions. **

* * *

**Chapter 1: **

Their work, like everything else in the world seemed to be conspiring against them. The first attempt to get together after the "event" a month ago got the kibosh when a senator was found in a compromising position with a slightly underage boy. John was already on his way to her apartment when she got the call.

The second attempt was trumped by a missing ten year old girl. Zoe had just opened the door when John got the call from Harold. No bazookas or car bombs were involved and the little girl was safely found and brought back to her parents.

The third attempt was shot down when he asked her to marry him so they could help someone in the suburbs. One would have thought that in the two days they spent together as husband and wife they would have been able to take care of business for a few hours; hell she would have settled for twenty minutes, unfortunately, Graham Wyler slipped out of his house past the security cameras and they had to hightail it to Manhattan so Savannah the exotic dancer could rappel down the side of the building, shoot a few fake chefs' knee caps and whisk his charge to safety.

The fourth attempt was waylaid by a judge's clerk who was found breaking into a sorority house for a panty raid. He was caught in said judge's daughter's room, panties in hand. They had just sat down to finish the leftover scotch and finish up a game of poker, when she got the call. She had been hoping to convince him to make it a game of strip poker and had planned on letting him win.

Maybe the powers that be were trying to tell them something.

It only took the "event"; that one night to upset Zoe's apple cart. No grand romances she had said. Well, of course she did, never having thought that men like John even existed. Who knew that Rambo could be so . . . Zoe was at a loss for words, and it had ticked her off because she had a big enough vocabulary to think of something appropriate! Even though she was granted a reprieve from her confusing predicament, it wasn't any clearer now than it was a month ago.

And here she was working the crowd of politicians. She was wearing a black dress and her hair was swept softly up and away from her face. The simplicity of the lone diamond at her throat was a stark contrast to the lightly tanned skin exposed by her deep neckline. Her strong toned legs were bare and were accentuated by the shortness of her hemline and the height of her black stilettos. Zoe Morgan looked amazing, as she always did, and she knew it. It was a shame that the only eyes she wanted on her rear weren't even around. The good thing was that the night was almost over. Eyeing a corner barstool, she made a beeline for it and sat, giving her order to the bartender. She pasted an aloof and cold expression on her face to deter any would be shysters.

"Is this seat taken?" A soft raspy, rather distinctive voice asked. Her stomach did a little flip at the sound of it.

Too exhausted and weary, all Zoe could manage was a little quirk of her lip. "John." She motioned towards the bar stool next to her indicating that it was free.

"Okay?" He asked, though his facial expression didn't alter, she did note the concern in his eyes.

"Tired," was all she could muster, feeling a bit light headed. She realized she hadn't eaten since that morning and she'd had several drinks this evening. "How did you know I was here?"

"Political Convention? I can do the math."

She accepted his answer with a half smile. "Are you in between people?"

"Yes."

"Good. Let's get out of here." As she stood up to leave her phone chirped.

_No! No! No!_ Each no was accompanied by a foot stomp. At least it was in Zoe's already frazzled brain. _And this ladies and gentlemen is, Zoe Morgan when she's had no sleep for two days and nothing substantial to eat except cocktail wieners, _she thought to herself, wanting desperately to throw a fit.

"Zoe Morgan." Quickly snapping her best fixer voice on, she answered her phone.

"Miss Morgan, this is your Super, Roy. Something has happened and well, you can't stay in your apartment for awhile."

"Why the hell not?" Zoe had to work on dialing down the bite in her voice; she knew that she was on her last nerve. Apparently, so did John because surprising to her, he laid a tentative hand on her arm as if to calm her.

"Uh yeah, well see the kids upstairs kind of had a party and one of their bong - er - - things caught fire and they didn't notice until it was too late. Short of it is your apartment is uninhabitable for a few weeks because of water and fire damage. No one is clear to go into the apartment until tomorrow and even then only for necessities."

"Lovely . . . Roy, would you call this number when I can safely go back into my apartment tomorrow?"

"Yes ma'am. And I'm really sorry."

Zoe clicked her phone off and fell back onto her barstool. "John, do you have your gun on you? Just shoot me."

"Problems?" John asked, sounding sympathetic.

_Huh, I must be drunk, _Zoe thought to herself as she went on to explain what happened.

"I'm going to make some phone calls, see if I can get a hotel room for the night," Zoe said. Picking up her phone, she started dialing.

"You might want to rethink that. It's doubtful that there are any hotel rooms available."

At her quizzical look, John responded. "See, there's a political convention in town. . . "

"Oh sh - - cr - damn it!" Her mind started ticking through her contacts list when it dawned on her that she only had work contacts and no personal ones. It had been over two decades since she has had a public meltdown, with the day that she has had today, she was jonesing to have another one. She dug in deep, way deep into her arsenal of control, positive no one would approve seeing a woman her age throw a fit, besides, it was bad for business. On any other day she would have had the right connections, favors owed, anything to get a room on such short notice. Unfortunately for her even the President couldn't get a room this week.

"You can stay with me." John said simply.

"What?" Zoe gave John a look that clearly said . . . _huh?_

John realized early in their conversation that Zoe was at the end of her rope and wasn't quite her usual put together self. "Follow the bouncing ball Zoe . . . "

"What?! " She prompted irately.

"My . . . Place . . . You . . . Can . . . Stay . . .With . . . Me . . . " John said enunciating each word as if he were talking to a two year old.

With a tentative glance at him she asked. "Are you sure John?" Zoe knew his place was sacred to him. It was why their failed attempts had always been planned at her apartment or somewhere else. For him to even offer was telling.

He nodded. "Yes, Zoe. It's fine. Let's go."

* * *

Zoe was lying on her stomach, dead to the world, when she felt fingers running through her hair, gently pushing the thick brown strands behind her ear. "Zoe . . . hey, I have to go. Finch just called."

She lifted her head up, blearily opening her eyes and staring at John. "Okay . . . "

"I left you a key on the counter."

"Uh-huh." She said, still half asleep. As she felt a soft kiss on her hair, she was falling back asleep.

Several hours later, Zoe stretched and sighed as she ascended into consciousness. She sat up as she surveyed her surroundings. Nice loft apartment, open space, simple, understated furniture. Ah, she must be at John's. Last evening was a blur. Being bone weary because she had been working for two days straight with hardly a rest, she could barely hold up a conversation with John. She had a vague recollection of arriving at the loft, John handing her a t-shirt and pointing her to the bed.

_Damn it. We finally see each other again and I didn't even get to see him naked._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**:

In the two weeks that Zoe had temporarily been staying at John's loft, she had seen him a grand total of two times, both times in passing. Either she was running out to meet with a client or deal with the restoration of her apartment or he was running in to pick up supplies from his closet of mass destruction, which she accidentally ran into one day looking for the linens. Not one to be shocked easily, she was still surprised by the sheer volume of the weapons stored in John's walk in closet.

They would occasionally text or call each other but because both their jobs had no set hours, and they could get called away at the drop of a hat, face to face time was rather sporadic. The only indication Zoe had that John even came back to the loft was that there was always a fresh cup of coffee already poured for her the way she liked it, black, one sugar on the bedside table when she woke up.

In turn, knowing John didn't eat while he was working Zoe always brought home something for dinner, even though she never knew when exactly he would be home. She would leave it in the refrigerator, usually with a few extras and it would always be gone by the morning. Whether he ate it himself or just took it to his homeless friends, she never knew.

* * *

Zoe stopped in her tracks when she saw a figure crouched by the front door of John's loft. Recognizing John's suit from two days ago, she ran to the eerily unmoving lump. "John?"

As he looked up towards Zoe, she had to stifle a gasp. She knelt by him and took his battered face in her hands. "John? Do you want me to take you to the hospital?" He shook his head no. "Okay, can you try to get up? I can help you inside . . ."

John released a breath through clenched teeth as he pushed hard and stood up. Gently, Zoe took his left arm and put it around her shoulders as she let them both into the loft. She sat him down on the side of and bed and knelt down at his feet. He struggled to try to get his shoes off, but Zoe softly stilled his movements. Looking into his eyes, she said, "Let me." Zoe was wearing the same elegant black dress she had worn during the convention but it didn't matter to her that she was on her knees helping John take off his shoes.

"Hit . . . by . . . car . . ." he said in between deep breaths. She nodded. "Bet it hurt like a son of a bitch huh?" Despite his condition, John let out a little snort.

John swallowed a litany of curses as she helped him peel his jacket off his shoulders and then started on his shirt. His undershirt though, bloody in some spots needed to be cut off. Several bruises and contusions were revealed, no doubt from his body making contact with the car.

"Let's take the rest of your clothes off in the bathroom and we can get you cleaned up, okay?" Zoe suggested with a slight tremor in her voice. She immediately bit her lip hard enough to taste blood; it was the only thing she could do to not cry.

_Get a grip Zoe,_ she told herself. _He's fine. This is what John does. This is who he is. _

Zoe kicked off her shoes on the way to the bathroom. She started the water and asked John if he had a first aid kit.

"It's in the closet . . . "

" . . . Of mass destruction?"

Smiling slightly, he nodded.

John was standing in front of the mirror, leaning on the counter and started to assess his injuries. Thankfully, John's head didn't hit the ground when he bounced off the car, it did suffer a glancing blow off the windshield though. There was a large bruise along his ribs on the right side. His suit coat had provided little protection from abrasions and there were several large lumps on his forearms where he'd hit the ground. On John's right hip was another large and painful bruise caused by the initial contact with the moving car.

John hissed to conceal his pain. Gently examining the swollen area around his ribs he felt along each rib as he tried to find broken bones. After a few minutes, John determined that he did not break any of his ribs, possibly just some cracks. His breathing heavy, John wiped away the sweat from his forehead and gingerly stepped into the tub, sighing with relief as he lowered himself into the hot water.

"Those ribs are probably broken." Zoe said with a softly scolding tone, she had come back with the first aid kit and a small bottle.

"Just two and they're cracked, no breaks." He watched Zoe's face as she took in the large purpling bruise along his rib area. She couldn't hide her crinkled brow and the sad and fearful look in her brown eyes.

Kneeling by the tub, still in her black cocktail dress, she showed him what was in her hand. "Here, I brought you some Aleve," she said handing him the bottle. "I thought you might need it."

"Thanks," John said with a small smile dry swallowing the pills. "I do feel like I've been hit by a truck."

When she didn't react, John looked at her and realized that her lower lip was trembling and she was biting her lip hard to make it stop. "It's not f-f-fun-ny John!" she said with a gasp biting on her lip again, not caring that when he first came in she had quipped a similar sentiment. Sharply, she said, "You could have been killed! Dumbass!"

"You act like you care." John said with half a smirk on his face, wincing with pain.

Zoe gasped. "Of course I care. I don't want you dead, you jackass," she said quietly.

"Your language is getting much more colorful."

"Bite me!" she said, standing up and turning away from him, frustrated because he didn't seem to care about his life. John could see her reflection in the mirror. She was leaning against the counter, biting her lip; still trying to get a grip.

Cocking his head curiously, John asked, "Zoe?" The gentleness in his raspy voice affected her more than she would ever admit. Zoe fought hard to hang on to the iron-clad grip she had on her already strained to the limit resolve. She clenched her eyes tightly, battling with her emotions.

Shaking her head, she finally overcame her frayed nerves, and suggested to John, "Why don't you wash up, the water won't stay warm forever."

She watched him for a few minutes until she noticed that he was struggling to lift his arms. Taking off her own clothes, she slipped into the tub behind him. Picking up the sponge, she soaked it under the hot water and ran it along John's shoulders and squeezed, washing off dried blood and dirt. She continued with his back, then reached around and washed his chest. She could feel his heart was racing and his breathing was uneven. She pressed her body against him. To be close to him, to hold him, to offer comfort the only way she could at that moment.

"Zoe," John whispered.

Zoe put her hand over his lips. "Shh. I know John, its okay." They stayed that way, her arms around his waist, her head lay on his shoulder blades until the water cooled. With John finally clean of the blood and grime, she stood up and dried herself off, putting on a robe that was hanging on the back of the door. "Come on Rambo, let's get you to bed," she said quietly as she helped him up and out of the tub, dried him off and led him to bed.

"John?" Zoe asked as they were nodding off. "Zoe." She heard his smirk even though it was dark. "I would have run you over myself if I had known it was the only way to get you naked in bed again . . . "


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3:**

John was still asleep and Zoe didn't want to wake him. She felt no guilt scrolling through his current burner phone's contact list and found what she was looking for.

"Mr. Reese?" Harold's voice came through the line.

"Harold, it's Zoe Morgan."

"Miss Morgan . . . " the question was evident in his tone.

She didn't feel as if she needed to explain her being in possession of John's phone. That wasn't her purpose for the call and it wasn't Harold's business anyway.

"Harold, John's resting. He has a minor concussion and I think it best if someone checked on him every few hours. I was going out of town for a few days to meet with clients."

"I'll take care of it. Besides the concussion, how is Mr. Reese?"

"Scrapes and bruising, nothing broken, at least we don't think so. Nothing rest won't fix, he didn't want me to take him to the hospital . . . "

"I understand."

As she was getting ready to click off, Harold's voice came through again.

"Miss Morgan?"

"Yes, Harold?"

"Thank you for being there for Mr. Reese."

"Of course." _Careful Zoe, people might actually think you have a heart._

Already dressed for the airport, Zoe walked over to the bed. As she looked at John, she wanted nothing more than to just lay back down on the bed with him, but she knew she couldn't. As he had done for her, she gently pushed the hair from his forehead. "John?" She smiled her half smile at him. When he opened his eyes, she could tell that he was instantly alert, though he didn't say anything. "I have to go out of town for a few days. Harold's sending someone to check on you every few hours. Okay?"

She leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on his forehead. Zoe wasn't sure she's ever given anyone a chaste kiss. Zoe Morgan didn't do chaste.

"Try to stay out of trouble John."

"Not gonna happen . . . " came the gruff reply.

* * *

After a tough nerve-wracking week, Zoe was just glad she was back in New York. While she was away, she had received a call from her super. Her apartment was fully restored and she could move back in whenever she wanted to. She had already arranged to have her furniture delivered as well as her other items that had been put in storage. There was a slight hitch somewhere in the region of where her heart should have been at the thought of moving out of John's loft.

Traveling light, Zoe only had her carry-on luggage which she was rolling behind her. Her eyes scanned the many white placards looking for the one that said Miss Morgan on it. Not immediately seeing it, she pulled out her phone and started punching numbers.

"Callahan Car Service . . . "

"This is Zoe Morgan. I just arrived at the airport; I don't see my driver . . ."

"Oh, he's there ma'am . . . he just called in and said . . . "

"But I don't see my name . . . " Zoe started then halted when she saw not a white, but a pink placard with her name on it.

_ZOE_. It read with . . . smiley faces on it? The smiley faces were small, but she could still see them. She trailed the arm that was holding the placard all the way up until she met a familiar face complete with an upward tilt of his mouth and slightly raised eyebrows.

"Never mind, I just found him."

She walked over to John and motioned to that placard. "Nice smiley faces."

"I aim to please."

"I'll keep that in mind." She laughed, thinking about poker chips and scotch.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

John sat on a ladder-backed chair in the living room of her newly restored apartment. She was sitting on his lap straddling his legs with her bare back to his bare chest. It was quiet inside the empty apartment, only their slow breathing was heard. There was clothing strewn across the floor from the kitchen to the living room.

Zoe rocked slowly and delicately as John kissed all across her shoulders, his hands cupping her breasts. She's had half of what was left of the scotch from Far Rockaway, and he's had the other half. His hands seemed huge in comparison to her. She watched as one of his hands wandered down to her belly and hip.

For leverage, she put her feet on the rungs of the chair as she tipped her head back and rested on his shoulders. She continued to rock and glide against him. It felt wonderful. She felt full, with John. This was what she wanted, John nipping and sucking on her neck as her heart pulsed at her throat. It had been a long six weeks. As they rocked and pushed their way to oblivion, they melted into one. He held her long after their breathing evened out, long after their need was sated, against him, cherished like gold.

Half asleep and still a tad drunk, she breathed her contentment against him as he carried her to the bedroom and tucked her under the blankets and sheets; it was so warm and comfortable that she began to doze.

Lying there, Zoe's mind started to wander to the man next to her. Lying behind her as she lay on her side, she felt his breath on her hair, his steady breathing indicated that he had fallen asleep. She was gently making lazy circles along his arm that was draped across her waist, as if lulling a baby to sleep.

John sacrificed many things so that he could protect people, help them, understand them and fix them. Zoe saw that hidden behind the terse, stoic, restrained demeanor beat a heart of gold, a softie with a marshmallow heart who bought lemonade from little girls. She knew because she was watching on Harold's video feed and saw his puckered face as he took that first sip.

He was a gentle soul who wanted nothing other than to atone for the sins of the past and to do what was right.

The man with a questionable past risked everything to protect the innocent. It wasn't just their lives he was saving either but their souls as well. It was evident when he told one of his charges that the past didn't matter and that the man that he was now was what mattered. Zoe knew because she had been listening in with Harold while waiting for John in the car that would take Graham Wyler home.

As her thoughts ran rampant, Zoe came to a realization of a sort. She had deep foreign feelings for this man, John. Whether it was love, she didn't know, and there were very few things Zoe Morgan would admit to not knowing. Certainly, she felt a healthy respect and admiration, but also a feeling of protectiveness though it went against her motto of "Looking out for number one."

_Well_, she thought raising a challenge to the powers that be. _I don't run from fights either._

Never one to back down from a challenge, self imposed or not, she made a decision to take that risk. John IS a good man. She had no illusions of a grand love affair; she meant it when she said it. She wanted John, for however long it lasted, if it at all. The man John is now was worth the risk.


End file.
